Wicked Whispers by Tina Donahue

on any other day. A soft breeze shooed away the acrid smoke, replacing the stench with the scent of vegetation and Enrique’s delightful fragrance.
    Giddy with anxiety and excitement, she locked her knees to keep from swaying. He offered his hand.
    She didn’t slip her own inside. “If you mount first, you can easily help me up so I can ride behind you.”
    “And have you tumble off my steed if you fall asleep? What kind of a protector would I be to allow such a thing?” He dragged his hair off his forehead where the wind had blown it. “I can see to your safety far better if you ride in front of me. No arguments, as I gave you none during your time with Maria.”
    No wonder he’d been so agreeable, figuring he might use his actions to sway her at some future point. “Any protests you might have made would have angered the child’s uncles and her mother.”
    “I fear no one’s fury except yours. Especially if we reach the castle in full light with the guests seeing how we ride.” He pointed at her shirt. “And how you dress.”
    Darkness was definitely her friend.
    She allowed him to help her mount. He settled behind her, his muscular thighs pressed close, stiffened shaft nestled against her buttocks. She gripped the saddle horn to steady herself. Her pulse throbbed even harder.
    With too much ease, he held her to him and left the village.
    The men guarding the community lifted their pitchforks in farewell. Enrique bowed his head in acknowledgment, his heated breath skipping across her cheek.
    She turned into him without thinking, reckless need racing through her until she curbed her feelings. Sitting straighter, with her back barely touching his chest, she searched for something to discuss. She sensed her experiments would hold his full interest and would open a flood of questions she wouldn’t want to answer. Speaking about Maria seemed safe, until she considered him asking how many other times she’d stolen into a village to treat a peasant.
    Better never to address the subject.
    He settled his mouth on her ear, his lips heated and soft. “Are you comfortable?”
    She was about to lose control. Her heart walloped, and perspiration ran down her spine. She dug her nails into the horn and willed herself not to ease closer to him, her desire and self-control battling with longing determined to win. She made a noise that sounded wanton to her.
    He leaned over, his face close. “What did you say?”
    “Why did you warn Maria’s mother?”
    “What? Warn her? When?”
    His admonition to the woman had surprised Sancha and gave her something to speak of other than his thumb stroking the area directly beneath her breast. Her belly fluttered. “You told her never to mention my visit. Why would she? I helped her daughter.”
    “You exposed yourself to gossip.”
    She waved her hand. “A woman invites scandal if she breathes too deeply.”
    “Make light of this if you will, but did you ever consider how miraculous your healing appears to others?”
    She twisted to look at him. Even in the wan light, his forelock stood out within his dark locks. His handsome features and hooded eyes seemed slightly dangerous, completely male. “My intent has never been to amaze anyone but to offer what relief I can.”
    “Your intent hardly matters. There are many who would insist your healing powers are so great you gained them from something other than the books you read. Namely, Satan. They would also suggest if you have the means to heal, you can also use your talent, power, or whatever you want to call it, to destroy.”
    Although she was well aware of how foolish and cruel people could be, having him state the matter made her belly cramp. “Do you think so of me?”
    “You know I never will.”
    “Nor do the peasants.”
    “Until you fail them, which you will at some point, as you are hardly God. When one of them dies in your care, the others may begin to talk, accuse, and want revenge. Have you ever considered such an